


are you ready to be strong?

by casdoms (moffwithhishead)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel, Fallen Angels, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder Mystery, Past Abuse, Psychic Abilities, and I'll add more specific stuff at the beginning of each chapter as it's named, basically john was an abusive son of a bitch and dean's pretty fucked up now, journalist!dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 17:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1950645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moffwithhishead/pseuds/casdoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“My apologies for startling you, Dean,” the gravelly voice is a surprise from the man standing in front of him and Dean scrambles to grab something on his desk he can use as a weapon, “I did not intend to.” </p><p>“Yeah well you did a hell of a job on that front,” Dean says breathlessly and closes his hands around a letter opener. “Exploding lightbulbs, cutting out the power... if you’re here to ask me out or something, I gotta tell you man, you’re coming on a little strong.” </p><p>-------------------------------</p><p>Dean Winchester is a journalist who gets the story of his career in what is almost definitely one of the top five worst years of his life. Lisa and Ben moved out, that voice in Dean's head won't shut up, his editor is looking for any reason to fire him and then one night this mysterious Thing explodes into Dean's life and changes everything he thought he knew. </p><p>(I suck at summaries, here's what you need to know: journalist!dean, psychic!dean, and cas is an angel in a regular world that's not ready to know about angels. there's more to it but again, I suck at summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. S.O.S., Just a New Day

**Author's Note:**

> So basically here's the deal: this was _supposed_ to be my DCBB14 entry but alas, I have like 6k written and have had very little motivation to write any more of it. I don't think it's going to actually be finished unless I have people (i.e. you lovely humans) bugging me to, y'know, finish it. So I decided to publish it now and hopefully I'll actually get somewhere with it in the near future since I'll be without a job by the end of this week.
> 
> Think of this as like a weird deancas psych/superhero/action adventure/things that mackenzie finds interesting type of AU where cas is the ultimate badass (i.e. he's basically canon!cas with a slightly better sense of comedic timing) and dean is a lovable journalist with some issues and a sordid past. 
> 
> **Warnings for this chapter:** mentions of child abuse, brief descriptions of gore (Dean visits a crime scene), mentions of mental institutions, possibly ableist language, Dean's usual brand of self-loathing and... oh yeah, pretty much everybody thinks Dean is "crazy" because he's psychic.
> 
>  
> 
> [read it on tumblr](http://slayerdeans.tumblr.com/post/91678254682/this-was-going-to-be-my-dcbb-entry-but-ive)

There’s a lot that’s going on here that shouldn’t be.

For starters, the guy that Dean is talking to? He’s got giant gaping wounds on his back and he barely seems human. If it wasn’t for the fact that the paramedics who checked him swear he has a heart and lungs and blood pumping through his veins and is 10000% human, Dean wouldn’t believe it.

There’s also a lot of weird... burns? Yeah, Dean’s going to go with burns. But there’s a lot of them on the ground around the area where this guy was found.

And there, there’s another thing that’s weird! The dude claims his name is Samandriel and that he’s supposed to find and contact his brother, Castiel. The fuck kinda names are they?

_Christian names_ , a voice in the back of Dean’s head supplies.  _They’re angel names, you dope_. Dean just tells the voice that sounds suspiciously like Sam to shut the hell up and let him focus on doing his job so his editor doesn’t fire him.

Because that’s  _exactly_  what Dean needs right now.

“So,” he clears his throat and looks up at Samandriel with a small smile as he adjusts his note pad on his knee, “Tell me again how you got here?” 

Samandriel makes a frustrated noise, his shoulders slumping a little as he starts to recite again, “I was going about my duties, checking on my charges and such, when I felt my Grace being ripped out of me. I collapsed while my sibling’s watched on until Anael came over and told me to find Castiel when I landed.” 

Dean notes that Samandriel’s voice cracks, he’s obviously trying to tamper down emotions and failing, and he looks scared but determined. He’s telling the truth. 

“And then...” The boy’s breath hitches for a moment as he squeezes his eyes closed, “I was falling. My wings...” He makes an aborted hand gesture towards his back and Dean tries not to laugh as Charlie mouths, completely scandalized, ‘WINGS??????’ where she’s cleaning up the wounds. 

“They’re gone,” Samandriel’s voice brings him back to the present and he whimpers as his bottom lip wobbles, “I Fell.” 

Benny clears his throat and stands up, gently patting Samandriel’s shoulder, “We’re goin’ to take you to a hospital, okay kid? The doctors there will be able’ta help ‘ya more than we can.” 

Samandriel doesn’t say anything, he just keeps staring at his hands like they’re someone else’s, like he has no idea how they got there. He looks like he’s never seen hands before and, well, isn’t that disconcerting? Dean feels bad for the kid - even if he is crazy, some fucked up shit happened to him and he knows what the doctors will do once they get ahold of him.

“Hey...” He keeps his voice soft as he sets a hand on top of Samandriel’s to get his attention, “You know your brothers last name? I can find him for you, let him know where you are...” 

The boy doesn’t look much older than seventeen but he swallows and nods, his voice sounding a little more sure of himself as he lets Benny lay him out on a stretcher, “Novak. Castiel Novak.” 

“We gotta take him, Dean,” Charlie says quietly once she’s finished picking up their stuff and stepping into the ambulance behind Benny.

“Don’t worry kid, I’ll find him,” Dean tries to assure him before Benny has the doors closed. He grabs his friend’s arm and says quietly, not wanting any of the cops around them to hear, “Hey... take him to St. Mary’s, alright?” 

Benny gives him a withering look, “Dean, you know we can’t...” He does know that but he also knows the head of pediatrics pretty well and he’s pretty sure that she’ll take care of Samandriel regardless. 

“I’ll take care of it,” Dean assures Benny and he gives him the puppy-dog eyes until the other man finally crumbles.

He chuckles and claps Dean’s shoulder affectionately, giving him a tired smile, “Okay okay, we’ll take him there. But you owe me, brother.” 

Dean  _beams_  at Benny and nods, following him as he walks over to the cab of the ambulance where Kevin and Charlie are waiting, “Hell yeah I do. Promise I’ll make it up to you.” Benny grunts and shuts the door to the giant truck behind him, “I expect Andrea’s number and nothing less.” 

That gets Dean to stop for a moment but he smiles and nods, “I make no promises but I’ll do whatever I can.” He waves to Kevin in the passenger seat as the ambulance turns on its sirens and pulls out of the field.

He knows his friends will take care of Samandriel. Hell, Benny and Charlie are the same paramedics that delivered his niece but there’s something about this kid that Dean feels weirdly protective of, like he’s somehow personally connected to the story. 

A cop taps him on the shoulder, some newbie that the Sergeant probably sent over to talk to Dean, and shows him where the detectives are so he can get in a quick interview with them. Dean follows, tucking his hands and his note pad back into his jacket pocket and pulls the hood a little further up on him to block the rain from getting on his glasses. 

It’s pretty gruesome, he’s not going to lie. There’s two other bodies a couple yards away from where Samandriel was found and they look like they’ve been smashed to pieces and hastily put back together. 

The grass is soaked through with blood and rain and Dean briefly worries about the fact that the squishing noise and the literal brain matter splattered all over the place doesn’t nauseate him more. Maybe he’s been on this beat for too long. 

_Maybe it’s because it makes you feel nostalgic_ , a traitorous voice whispers in his head. Dean shakes his head and tries to block it out as he walks up to the two detectives in charge of this case.

“Hey,” he greets Victor and Jo with a tired smile and takes the other man’s offered handshake, “What do you guys think it is?” 

Jo sighs and hands an evidence bag off to one of the lab guys before looking at Dean and saying with a completely straight face, “Gross.” Dean snorts at that, shaking his head fondly, “Classy, Joanna Beth.” 

“I aim to please,” the junior detective hums with a small smile as she stands up and goes over to the other body, not bothering to give Dean a second look. 

Victor clears his throat, smirking at Dean, “If you care at all about not getting fired this week...” Dean groans and looks over at his friend exasperatedly, “Did Sam tell  _everyone_  about that blow up of Chuck’s?” 

“Hell yeah he did,” Victor’s grinning as he steps over the bloodied corpse whose legs are up by its head and hands are laying a few feet away from the arms they should be attached to, “Chuck losing his shit and screaming at you in front of everyone? I’m pretty sure Sam posted that video on youtube, man. ‘Chuck Shurley loses his shit over a typo’ - look it up.” 

Dean snorts and starts taking notes about the scene, deciding not to engage in this conversation, “So I say again to the detective with the ten years on the job who’s making jokes over a dead body that was probably a victim of some fucked up serial killer -” he grins at the look of sheepish annoyance Victor gives him, “What do you  _think_  this is?” 

The detective sighs and runs a gloved hand over his head, down to the back of his neck, “Honestly? I got no clue. Coroner says he’s gotta do an autopsy before he feels comfortable declaring COD.” He kneels down and points out different parts of the barely-discernible body parts, “But there’s no obvious wounds to the body. No head trauma, no blunt force trauma, no nothing. Just broken bones and a whole lot of blood... Then again the poor guy could have ‘I was the victim of a serial killer’ written on his legs and we’d never know.” 

They could know - hell, Dean  _does_  know, but he’s smart enough not to go down that path again. He likes his job and this town just fine. Going on the run isn’t as much fun as it was when he was a baby-faced kid who had nothing to lose; now, he’s got everything to lose. 

“So you think there’s a story here?” Victor asks him after a few moments of silence for Dean to take some more notes, “I mean we got one survivor, assuming he’s not the perp that did all of this.” 

That startles a laugh out of Dean and he looks up at his friend incredulously, “ _That_  kid? He’s like a buck-twenty soaking wet, Vic. He might be delusional but I didn’t get the murderous, self-indulgent sociopath kind of vibe.” He knows those vibes like he knows the back of his hand. Dean pushes himself up again and sighs as he puts his note pad back in his backpack, “Besides, we’ve both talked to enough sociopaths to know when we see one. I think you know he’s just as much of a vic as they are.” 

“Vibes aren’t gonna hold up in court, Winchester,” the detective reminds him with a small groan as he pushes himself up, mumbling something about ‘too old for this shit.’ “You know I’m fine with letting you stick your nose all over my cases but neither one of our bosses will be too psyched if you try to pull that shit again.” 

Victor’s right, of course, and Dean’s look of annoyance confirms as much to the other man. They both know how well  _that_  had gone over the last time.

“Fine, the next time some kid’s ghost appears at the end of my bed and tells me who killed her, I’ll be sure to direct them to your place, asshole,” Dean mumbles fondly, smiling to himself when it earns him a genuine chuckle from Victor. 

They walk back to their respective cars together, the whole time Dean takes his ‘official’ statement about the scene and what they know of the crime so far. It seems stupid because at this point Dean could’ve written the whole thing word-for-word but hey, journalistic integrity and all that. 

They promise to meet for a beer later that night if Vic leaves work tonight before Dean gets in the Impala and drives back towards home.

He’s barely on the highway again before his phone rings and he picks it up, grinning like an idiot because he knows  _exactly_  who it is, “The lovely and indelible Dr. Moseley, how are you on this damp autumn evening?” 

“ _Dean Winchester, what the hell are you doing sending your poor friends all the way over to my hospital with this young man? They could lose their jobs, you know!_ ” 

He winces at how mad Missouri actually sounds and he drops the act immediately, letting out a tired breath of hair, “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I  **promise**  I meant to call you as soon as they took off but I was at the crime scene and I had to take Vic’s statement before they left and I guess I just forgot.” 

“ _Uh huh_ ,” she says, her tone letting him know that she doesn’t believe that he just ‘forgot’ for one second, “ _But that still doesn’t explain why I’ve got a boy in the trauma bay waiting for surgery when he should be across town_.” 

Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his face as he drives along the empty stretch of highway, “Samandriel is... there’s something off about this case, Missouri.” 

“ _You’re telling me_ ,” she snorts and Dean can’t help but smile at that. “ _Poor kid’s been tellin’ all my interns about how his wings were taken from him and that’s where those damn gashes came from. Either somebody hurt this poor boy real good or he’s just as crazy as you were when we met_.” 

He tries not to bristle at that, he really does, but he ends up pouting out the front window, “I thought we established that ‘crazy’ was not the word we were going to use to describe me post-fire.” 

“ _Would you prefer I call you an abuse victim with delusions of being a psychic to help you cope with the fact that your abuser was now dead and you were all on your own?_ ” 

Dean groans quietly, wanting to whine and just generally be a brat at the moment, “Jesus, I’m sorry for sending Samandriel to you, okay? Just... just stop bringing it up.” He hates talking about that. She knows he hates talking about that - why do pseudo-parents always have to bring up shit you’d rather forget about??  ** _Why?_**

Missouri chuckles in Dean’s ear, “ _I’m sorry sugar, you know I mean it in the best possible way_.” 

He can hear her flipping through some papers on the other end and Dean jumps in before she gets a chance to speak again, “Listen, Missouri, we don’t really know what happened here but... there’s just something not right about it. It doesn’t sit well with me. It’s not a normal case, y’know? And Samandriel...” Dean’s voice goes a little quieter as he glances down at the picture on his dash quickly, “He just... he strikes me as a good kid who got thrown into something shitty. I just wanted to know that he’d be at a hospital where the psych ward wasn’t... well, a psych ward.” 

“ _I’ll watch him, Dean_ ,” Missouri promises him after a moment and Dean blushes at the tone of understanding in her voice, “ _You have my word_.” 

Dean breathes out a ‘thank you’ and promises to call Missouri in the morning with Samandriel’s next of kin information before hanging up. Victor and Jo will be looking for him too but Dean’s always been a little bit better at tracking people down. 

There’s a constant hum of familiarity going on in this case and it fills the background of Dean’s mind, like something (some _ **one**?_ ) is trying to tell him he’s missing a big giant neon sign in the middle of this whole thing. He shakes his head and turns up the radio, pushing that part of himself to the back of his head and replacing it with Metallica lyrics.

At least  _that_  can’t get him fired. 

* * *

When Dean pulls into the driveway of his house, he parks the Impala on the street and sighs, steeling himself to go in.

The entire place is dark, all the lights turned out and it makes something in Dean’s chest  _ache_  because Lisa used to leave lights on all the time. He’d come home from work and go around the house shutting all the lights off with a small smile on his face because some stupid part of him thought it was endearing. 

Now though, two days after Lisa and Ben officially moved out, the house seems too quiet and too big. Too empty for Dean and he almost turns around and drives down the street to Charlie and Jo’s place to crash on their couch. 

But he makes himself get out because his computer is in there and he needs to do some research to track down this ‘Castiel Novak’ dude. He also needs to type up his notes into some sort of form resembling a story and send a copy to Chuck by the morning so he doesn’t flip another shit. 

Dean opens the door and smiles as he walks into the house, finding Sarge sitting there with her big ears and wagging tail waiting for him. “Hey buddy,” he says quietly and kneels down for a moment to rub the puppy’s too-big ears, “I swear, you’re growing faster than Ben did...” 

Sarge follows him into the kitchen where Dean flips on a light and fills up her food bowl, pretending this is just another night when Lisa’s working late and Ben’s sleeping over at a friend’s house. 

He puts a bowl of the chili he made last night in the microwave and pulls himself up onto the counter while he waits for it. “You know Sarge, I think Lis might change her mind once she spends some time with this ‘Matt’ guy,” Dean says thoughtfully as he keeps his eyes on the ceiling. “Maybe she’ll even come back before it’s movie night.” 

When the microwave beeps and Dean looks down for a moment, Sarge is giving him such a clear ‘oh honey’ look that he actually fights the urge to blush, “Shut up. I know I’m pathetic.” 

He grabs a beer from the fridge and carries his dinner down the hall to his desk, vaguely aware of Sarge following behind him, not bothering to turn any lights on as he goes.

He ignores the pictures of him, Lisa and Ben on his desk while he gets everything set up to hopefully get some work done. But the respite from seeing what he’s lost doesn’t last long because when his computer boots up to a picture of him, Ben and Lisa at Sam’s wedding Dean feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

“You gotta remind me to change that,” he looks down at Sarge and she’s giving him sad eyes again like she knows how completely pathetic Dean is. They’ve been separated (broken up?) for over two years now but he still can’t wrap his mind around the fact that they’re not together anymore, that Lisa’s long-since filed for divorce. “Don’t look at me like that,” Dean defends, pouting a little, “It’s a good picture. I was having a  _really_  good hair day.” 

Living together after the separation had been Lisa’s idea, to help Ben get through it easier. And it did - it made it easier for their young son to get used to the idea that mommy and daddy weren’t together anymore - but it also made it hard as hell for Dean to move on from his wife when he still woke up every morning to Lisa making breakfast. Even when Lisa started dating, he couldn’t move on. They’d managed to form some sort of weird friendship where they didn’t share a bed and they didn’t wear their rings but they still talked and told each other about their lives. Dean got even better at pretending than he already had been. 

When she came home from one of those dates a year ago and told Ben and Dean about the guy, Matt, Dean had brushed it off. There’d been more than one guy who was “really different” and who was “such a sweetheart.” Dean had just figured they’d date for a few months and then break up. 

Fast forward to three months ago when Dean had come home to find Lisa and Matt sitting at the dining room table waiting for him. They wanted to move in together. They wanted to buy a  _house_  together. They wanted to be their own family, without Dean. And Lisa had looked so happy, like she’d looked when she first met Dean, that he didn’t have the heart to try and stop it. Maybe Lisa didn’t love Dean anymore but man, did he love her. He would’ve given her the whole moon if that’s what it took to make her happy.

So Dean’s been spending the last three months pretending to be happy for her and helping Lisa and Ben get ready for the move. They weren’t that far away, about an hour, but it was far enough that they wouldn’t see each other every day. And two days ago he helped Matt pack up the moving truck with his son’s things and smiled and waved as he’d watched another man drive away with the woman he’d thought he would grow old with. 

Sarge grunts her recognition of the comment and lays her head down so it’s resting on Dean’s foot, effectively snapping him out of his reverie. He pretends not to be pleased with her placement as he shovels a couple spoonfuls into his mouth while he waits for the ancient piece of crap that is his computer to actually pull up a browser. 

He looks down at Sarge after a few minutes of feeling her eyes bore into the side of his head and tells her point blank, “You know, I’m a catch. I’m like... hot and stuff. And a journalist? People find that attractive. Look at Clark Kent. I’ll be fine, okay? Stop looking at me like that.” Sarge looks unconvinced but does close her eyes and let out a deep sigh like she’s had it up to here with Dean’s shit.

When the computer finally cooperates, Dean sets his dinner aside and gets to work.

_Castiel_... he frowns at the screen and tries a few different spellings of the name first even though he’s pretty sure there’s not going to be too many Castiel Novak’s running around in the US. Most of the results he’s getting on google are ‘Cas _s_ iel’ but there’s a few instances of ‘Castiel’ that show up. They’re mainly results about some book series that Carver Edlund wrote and jesus, they sound cheesy.

Dean pulls up the DMV database and searches for ‘Cassiel Novak’ but he gets no results for Illinois or the surrounding states. He tries again on the national FBI database, searching the name once more and again, he comes up with bupkis.

He looks down at Sarge and scowls a little, “If this kid is crazy and I’m doing all this work for no reason, I’m blaming you.” She opens up one eye long enough to glare at him before she settles in again and immediately goes back to sleep.

Dean snorts fondly and looks back up at the ‘NO MATCHES’ flashing across his screen. Charlie worked a twelve hour shift today so there’s no way in hell he’s going to call her to hack into the NSA. He calls in a favor and asks Bela over at Interpol to check the name for him and even though she curses him out for asking her right when she was going to sleep, she still runs it. 

“ _Sorry sweetheart_ ,” her tired voice comes back over the line a few minutes later, “ _Either your man doesn’t exist or you’ve got the wrong name_.” 

“Shit,” Dean groans and rubs a hand over his eyes, barely registering that a little over three hours has passed and it’s getting close to 3am. He’s about to hang up when a thought passes over him and he opens his mouth, speaking without his permission, “Hey... can you check Castiel Novak? With a ‘t’ instead of the second ‘s’?” 

She sighs and it’s quiet for a moment before Dean hears more typing and then Bela’s lovely voice grumbling, “ _You’re lucky you saved my ass, Winchester_...” 

Dean resists the urge to snark about the fact that he didn’t actually mean to save her life but he decides that he’ll let it slide this one time. They’re both tired and she’s got the best chance of finding out where the hell this guy is, if he exists at all. 

“ _Whoa_ ,” Bela’s voice snaps him out of his momentary daydream and she sounds more spooked than Dean’s ever heard her, “ _Dean... why did you say you needed this guy’s information again?_ ” 

“This case,” Dean starts and he sounds a little nervous himself now, “This kid said Castiel is his brother.” 

“ _Dean, this guy is flagged by almost every agency on the globe. The clearance for his file is so high I tried Crowley’s log on and it still wouldn’t let me in. I think you shou_ -” 

His line goes dead abruptly and Dean scowls down at the receiver on his desk, “Is this why Sam keeps bugging me to get rid of the landline?” 

Before he has any time to say anything else though, he hears Sarge growling and suddenly she’s across the room in the hallway in attack position facing the front door. Dean’s blood runs cold as he reaches down and pulls his gun out from the bottom drawer of his desk, quietly getting up from his chair and making his way over to the office door. 

“I don’t know who you are,” he calls out loudly, trying to make himself sound more intimidating than he probably is, “But I’ve got a gun and a German Shepard who’s trained to attack and I’m not afraid to use either one of ‘em!” 

Sarge moves in front of Dean as soon as she sees a dark figure walking towards them from the living room and he’s never seen her look more ferocious in the six months they’ve had her. She may be less than a year old but  _damn_ , he’s really glad he’s never pissed her off. 

Dean draws his weapon and stands like his dad taught him to, already regulating his breathing and focusing in on the target, “Come any closer and I’ll shoot you!” 

The figure doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, just keeps coming towards them and as it passes the kitchen, the lights flicker off. Dean vaguely registers the sound of one of the lightbulbs shattering before he shoots the guy square in the chest, not bothering to warn him any more. 

He doesn’t fall down. He doesn't even  _flinch_. He just keeps coming closer so Dean keeps firing, emptying out his clip into the guy’s chest, stomach and he’s pretty sure he even got one to the head. 

By that point Dean grabs Sarge’s collar and yanks her backwards into the office with him, shutting the door immediately. Somehow he doubts it’ll be enough to stop whoever (whatever?) is in the house but it might give him enough time to send an email to -

When he turns back to look at his desk, his computer looks like it’s exploded, literally. The screen is shattered, there are pieces of glass on the chair and the ancient machine looks like it may actually burst into flames at any moment and Dean can’t help his freaked out, “What the fuck?!” 

A deep chuckle from behind him makes him jump, spinning around immediately and whacking the dark figure in the head with the butt of his gun before stumbling back towards the desk and letting Sarge do her ferocious thing. 

The figure (a man, apparently) steps into the office and now that he’s in the light, Dean can see him  _smiling_  at him. 

There are a lot of things going on here that shouldn’t be possible.

For one: the door to the office is still shut and it doesn’t appear to have been opened. For another thing, the guy’s trench coat (and seriously who the hell wears a fucking  _trench coat?_ ) is completely undamaged - no blood, no holes, shit, there’s not even a stitch out of place to suggest it was miraculously fixed or something. And lastly? Dean  _knows_  this dude. He’s seen him before... he’s just got no idea from where.

“My apologies for startling you, Dean,” the gravelly voice is a surprise from the man standing in front of him and Dean scrambles to grab something on his desk he can use as a weapon, “I did not intend to.” 

“Yeah well you did a hell of a job on that front,” Dean says breathlessly and closes his hands around a letter opener. “Exploding lightbulbs, cutting out the power... if you’re here to ask me out or something, I gotta tell you man, you’re coming on a little strong.” 

The guy frowns and tilts his head to the side, his expression is clearly confused but mostly amused, “I did not expect that you would be interested in dating so soon after Lisa.” 

He freezes for a moment, confused as to a) how the hell this guy knows about that, b) why the hell this creepy guy knows about that, and c) why the  _ **shit**_  isn’t Sarge barking anymore?????

The intruder smiles apologetically and gestures to the now passed out dog on the floor and he answers before Dean can ask, “She’s alive. She’s just sleeping.” His voice is surprisingly sincere when he says, “I did not mean to scare you, it’s just that she was giving me a headache.” 

“Who the fuck are you?” Dean growls out, now more pissed than freaked out. 

The man steps forward so he’s about a foot in front of Dean and offers him a small smile before saying quietly, “I am Castiel Novak. I believe you were looking for me.” 

Dean barely feels the arms that catch him when he passes out.


	2. I'll see you on the other side if I'm still breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel turns around and levels Dean with a look that clearly implores him not to ask stupid questions, “Dean Winchester, you are smarter than this.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair and it looks so out of place on him that Dean feels suddenly smacked in the face with the realization that this man isn’t human. He may look like a human, he may talk like a human, he may smell like a human - but Castiel isn’t a human.
> 
> “You’re right,” the other man says simply and nods, “I’m not human.” 
> 
> Dean is _so_ not awake enough to have this conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [whispers] I'VE BEEN WAITING ALL DAY TO POST THIS!!! 
> 
> Here's the second chapter. Everything after this point is what I've written since I published this - which by the way, is like almost 6k more words :') Thank you to the lovely humans who commented, it means a lot. Enjoy the brief (and dark, oops) glimpse at Dean's past. Some more things will be revealed in the next chapter... 
> 
> **Warnings:** character death (don't worry it's not someone important), brief discussion of abuse, mental institutions, antipsychotic medication, more ableism, etc.
> 
>  
> 
> [read it/reblog it on tumblr!](http://slayerdeans.tumblr.com/post/91781940992/chapter-two-of-this-ao3-when-dean-comes-to)

CHAPTER 2 

When Dean comes to, he’s laid out on his sofa and for a moment he thinks that he fell asleep here when he was watching TV last night - that fantasy is interrupted by a vaguely familiar gravelly voice.

“Good to see you’re awake,” Castiel says quietly as he flips through Dean’s notes from the scene earlier that day, “I thought I’d hurt you for a moment.”  

Dean groans and pushes himself upright slowly, mumbling under his breath about pillows that would’ve helped his neck hurt less and he glares when the other man laughs outright at that, “The fuck are you laughing at, dickbag?” 

“You,” Cas says with a sigh and he smiles tiredly up at the other man, “You haven’t changed.” He stands up from the chair he’d been sitting in and hands Dean his notebook, “You’re approaching this all wrong, you know.” 

_Haven’t... changed...?_ Dean wants to ask but his brain is still stuck on how the hell Castiel found him and where the hell he came from and what he is and - jesus christ, he has so many questions. ** _So. many. questions_**.

“I can’t answer most of those questions,” Castiel says from where he’s standing in front of the bookshelf and looking through Dean’s stuff.

He blinks up at the slightly shorter man and scowls sleepily, running a hand through his hair, “You can’t answer what?” 

Castiel turns around and levels Dean with a look that clearly implores him not to ask stupid questions, “Dean Winchester, you are smarter than this.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair and it looks so out of place on him that Dean feels suddenly smacked in the face with the realization that this man isn’t _human_. He may look like a human, he may talk like a human, he may _smell_ like a human - but Castiel isn’t a human.  

“You’re right,” the other man says simply and nods, “I’m not human.”  

Dean is **_so_** not awake enough to have this conversation.  

“Then... what _are_ you?” He hears himself ask even though he has a feeling he doesn’t want to know. It’s probably some government thing or, even worse (better? cooler?) some sort of superhero/alien thing. Dean’s pretty attractive and he _does_ look good in glasses but he doesn’t think he’s got what it takes to make the cut in a superhero movie. He wouldn’t be the guy helping the hero out, he’d be the one at work giving the guy shit.   

Castiel smiles and it’s small, almost private, and it only grows when Sarge comes over sleepily and lays down right on top of the stranger’s feet without preamble - clearly she’s not as intimidated as Dean is.  

“What I am, Dean,” his voice is quiet in the small study but it feels like a cone of silence was just dropped on top of them with the sheer weight of it, “Is something that people like you aren’t ready to see.”  

Well that’s bullshit. 

The resulting laugh that earns him from the not-man informs Dean that he actually said that out loud. “It, ah...” Castiel is again smiling as he looks up at Dean and reaches down to pet Sarge, “It is, in fact, ‘bullshit.’ But unfortunately it is the only answer I can give you.”  

Dean’s wary of this whole thing already but something in him tells him that he can trust Cas - the same damn voice that says he’s familiar, he’s met Cas before, is telling him that this is safe. Sticking with Cas is a good bet on this one, the voice assures him and Dean scowls as he sits back down in his desk chair to send Charlie a quick email and tell her that he found Samandriel’s next of kin, mumbling to the voice, “Shut up.” It doesn’t want to listen tonight. 

If Cas notices, he doesn’t say anything, but he does change the subject quickly, “Why were you looking for me?”  

The question catches Dean’s attention and he blinks, his quest momentarily forgotten, before he scrambles up and over to his backpack to grab his camera, “Right! Um there was this thing today and two bodies, one vic who was still kickin’. Went down to the scene, kid said you were his next of kin.”  

Castiel’s face remains carefully blank so Dean grabs his camera from his backpack on the ground next to him and pulls out his camera. He scrolls through the pictures as he looks for the one he’d taken of Samandriel for ID purposes, “Um... young, like maybe 16? Or at least he looks it... Baby faced, sandy blonde hair, babbling about his wings... ah ha!”  

He barely gets a chance to hold out the camera before Cas snatches it away from him and starts pacing the room, mumbling to himself in a language that definitely isn’t english (and Dean is definitely _not_ being really really nosy and recording every second of it with the tape recorder that’s taped to the bottom of his sofa).   

“So...” he clears his throat awkwardly after a good five minutes of quiet mumbling and smiles awkwardly at the strange man in front of him, “You know the kid? Or was he just yanking my chain?”  

“Yes,” Castiel says quietly without taking his eyes off the photo, “I, ah... I used to know him. A very long time ago.”  

Well that... answers absolutely nothing for Dean. “Oh... kay...” He says cautiously as his eyes follow Castiel’s movements back and forth across the study, “So... do you want to know where he is? Because if he’s a minor he’s going to need you to sign him out of the hospital...”  

“Hospital?” His eyes snap up to Dean and they flash bright blue, almost white, for a moment and Dean can just barely hear another lightbulb somewhere in the house exploding, “What hospital? Why is Samandriel in the hospital?” Castiel is across the room before Dean even has a chance to blink and suddenly there’s a hand on his throat pinning him against the wall.

 Castiel’s growl makes Dean shiver for so many reasons but the absolutely murderous look the not-man gives him makes the journalist want to drop to his knees. “ ** _Where_** -” his voice drops impossibly deeper and Dean feels like the room is shaking with the intensity of it, “ ** _IS_** **_he?_** ”  

“Sai -” Dean croaks out the best he can with his air supply being cut off, “Saint Mar-” 

He doesn’t even get to finish the sentence before Castiel drops him to the ground and abruptly disappears. 

Dean takes a few deep, gasping breaths in to try and catch his breath as Sarge walks over to him and promptly sits down in his lap, apparently not caring that her owner can barely breathe.  

“This is so fucked up,” he tells her quietly, his voice too raw to speak above a whisper right now, before finally closing his eyes and letting his head thud back against the wall.  

The last thing he remembers is a hand covering his shoulder before he passes out.  

* * *

“Dean!” Sam’s thunderous voice fills the house the next morning as he uses the spare key to open the front door. His brother hasn’t been answering his calls all night and every text message they’ve all sent him has gone unanswered. He’s a little scared Dean did something stupid (he refuses to think _again_ , he refuses to think of the last time this happened) so he doesn’t feel bad when he shoulders Dean’s bedroom door off the hinges. 

“Dean!” He almost screams again and goes over to the passed out body on his brother’s bed, shaking it roughly because it feels like his heart is going to fly right out of his chest, “Dean, you stupid fucking idiot wake the fuck up or I swear to god I will key the Impala-”

Whatever idle threats Sam was about to use are forgotten when Dean rolls over and smacks his little brother in the face with a pillow, grumbling sleepily, “The fuck is wrong with you?”  

He’s momentarily too stunned to actually say anything.

Dean’s just _staring_ at him like he has absolutely no idea, like this is a normal day (well, a normal day save for Sam bursting into his house and waking him up like that). And that’s when it hits Sam that Dean? Dean has no idea what happened last night. 

The older Winchester yawns and sits himself up, resting his elbow on his knees as he scrubs his face with his hands, “Why the fuck are you in my room, Sam? Shouldn’t you be at...” Dean interrupts himself with another big yawn before squinting up at the sasquatch standing next to the bed, “Doesn’t your vacation start today?”

He has no idea. He has absolutely no fucking idea and Sam is momentarily terrified to tell him... but he has to, right? “Dean...” Sam starts nervously as he sits on the edge of the bed.  

His brother, god bless him, just holds up a hand and yawns once more, “You have your serious voice on. Let me have coffee and a shower first before you tell me something serious otherwise I probably won’t remember it.”  

Sam nods dumbly and lets his brother stumble into the bathroom before going into Dean’s kitchen and putting on a big pot of coffee. He drove straight here from Kansas, where him and Jess were visiting with Mary when they got the call. He hasn’t slept a wink and he’s going to need some coffee of his own if he wants to get through this conversation.  

He remembers the day that the cops called Mary and told them that they’d found Dean, finally. His brother had been missing since before Sam could even remember and he’ll never forget being eleven years old and seeing his mom cry for the first time. 

The first few months after that were the hardest of Sam’s life by far. Dean had lived his entire life thinking that Sam and Mary died so when he saw them again at the hospital that the courts placed him in, he refused to believe that’s who they were. He wouldn’t let his mom touch him or his brother hug him and after that first time, they weren’t even allowed to come visit him for two months. Sam remembers his mom talking to the nurse who’d had to tell them that and how straight her face had been as she’d walked out to the car, only to break down into dry-heaving sobs when the doors to the Impala had finally been locked.  

It had taken a long time (six months after he came home), a lot of therapy, and a year and a half of living in a mental institution for Dean to trust them and to finally let his mother and his little brother back into his life. Sam was a little scared that Dean wouldn’t believe him. 

He was more than a little scared that this would send Dean back into a tailspin.  

His thoughts were interrupted though by the aforementioned brother coming into the kitchen with a t-shirt and some basketball shorts on, his hair all mussed up from drying it with a towel and his constant shadow Sarge trailing behind him.  

Dean grabbed himself a big cup of coffee, letting himself drink half of it before finally smiling up at Sam tiredly, “Okay, what’s so urgent that you broke into my house at ten in the morning?”  

“Dean...” Sam starts again but Dean interrupts him with a frown, “Hey wait, aren’t you and Jess supposed to be at mom’s this weekend?”  

Sam resists the urge to whine, “Yeah, but-” Dean’s frown turns into a deep and sincere scowl, “Dude, what the hell?! You KNOW mom has been looking forward to this for months and you just ditch her?! Is this a good example to set for your daughter, Samantha?” 

He knows the face his brother is wearing as his ‘rant’ face, or the one he likes to wear when he gives Sam shit, so he cuts him off before this can go any further, “Dean, dad’s dead.”  

Dean narrows his eyes at the younger man across from him and says slowly, “I know...” He arches an eyebrow at his little brother, “The cops declared him dead like fifteen years ago... remember? We were there? There was a courtroom, lots of dudes with guns...?”  

Sam’s face contorts into something between annoyance and genuine concern as he moves closer to his older brother, “No, Dean, he’s...” He takes a deep breath and looks down at the counter, “Jess and I were at moms. She got a call from the detective that worked dad’s case yesterday. They found his body. DNA match, 100%. It’s him.” 

After everything that John Winchester put Dean through, Sam isn’t sure whether he expects his big brother to laugh, cry, walk over to the liquor cabinet and down a fifth of jack or something else - something worse. All of it seems equally likely to Sam and equally justifiable. He may have absolutely no memories of his father but he knows that he hates the man with every fiber of his being for what he did to Dean... but he still found himself, of all things, a little _heartbroken_ yesterday when he had heard the news.  

What Sam does not expect is Dean’s face to remain unchanged and for him to shrug nonchalantly before mumbling a confused, “Oh... kay?”  

Sam assumes he’s making another face because Dean sighs and rolls his eyes, “Sorry it’s not the meltdown you were looking for, bitch, but it’s whatever, right? Dad’s dead, he’s been dead, now there’s just a body to prove it. Case closed.”

Dean moves away from his little brother and goes over to the coffee maker with his mug in his hands, avoiding looking up from the floor. It feels like his heart is going to pound right out of his chest and he just wants Sam to go away for a minute so he can _think_ again.  

 _So you can tell yourself that I deserved what I got, right?_ The voice in his head hisses in a familiar baritone that makes Dean stand up a little straighter on instinct. _That I had it coming to me? That you’re not the bad guy because of what I did to you?_   

“Shut the hell up,” Dean growls in a clipped whisper under his breath and squeezes his eyes closed tightly as he slams his mug onto the counter.  

 _Well guess what Dean_ , the voice hisses from the back corners of his mind, _You’re not the good guy. No matter what you do, no matter how many lives you save or how many people you help, that’s never going to erase the fact that_ ** _you_** _killed me_.   

“I said shut the fuck up!” Dean snaps in his normal voice this time, throwing the spoon he’s been white-knuckling the whole time into the sink out of frustration.  

He wants to cry or throw up or hit someone but he _can’t_ because Sam is standing three feet away from him and saw all of this. And now he’s going to get **_those_** questions again, the ones that he hates. Dean knows he’s not normal but he’s also not crazy, despite what everyone else seems to think.   

“So,” Sam clears his throat awkwardly from the other side of the kitchen island and arches an eyebrow at Dean, the concern evident and clearly written on his face, “I thought you said you were taking your medicine.”  

Dean grunts and finally pours himself some more coffee, “And I thought you said you’d stop talking to me like I’m a fucking child, Samantha.”  

Sam gives him bitch face #254 and braces both hands on the counter, “I’m not treating you like a child, Dean. I’m treating you like a brother that I _care_ about. That I don’t want to see anything bad happen to... again.” He’s so earnest and sincere about it that the older Winchester barely has it in him to argue.  

“Fuck you,” Dean grumbles and grabs his medicine from the cabinet before showing Sam the handful of pills and tossing them back. He swallows them without water and even gets obnoxiously close to his brother when he sticks out his tongue and shows him that the pills aren’t stuffed somewhere in his mouth, “See? Took them. Swallowed ‘em like a real boy and everything.”  

“Ugh, gross!” Sam squawks and pushes Dean away with his face all scrunched up, “I thought you said you were going to shower!”  

“I did shower!” He protests with a small pout as he shuffles back over to his coffee cup and takes a big gulp of it. Sam gives him an unimpressed look and barely stops himself from rolling his eyes, “Then why does your breath smell like ass?”  

Dean smirks and arches an eyebrow at Sam, “Do you really want to know the answer to that?”  

That time Sam does roll his eyes as he sits at the kitchen table, “Don’t be a jerk, Dean. You and I both know that the only action you’re getting at night is when Sarge lets you cuddle with her.”  

“I do **_not_** cuddle,” Dean grumbles under his breath as he goes over to the fridge and pulls out some pre-made breakfast meal from the freezer, sparing a pet for Sarge when she comes into the kitchen (finally), “I sleep-hug... in like... a _manly_ fashion.”   

“Ah yes, because ‘sleep-hug in a manly fashion’ sounds way less weird than ‘Hi I’m Dean Winchester and I’m a huge cuddle-slut,” Sam smirks when he notices the blush on his brother’s cheeks.  

“Shut up,” he hears Dean mumble from the microwave.  

* * *

 The two brothers ate breakfast in silence after that, except for the handful of questions that Dean had about their dad (was mom going to do a service or anything? did he need to come back to Kansas with Sam? were Jess and their mom going to come back to Illinois instead? was mom okay?) that Sam answered to the best of his abilities. 

Dean manages to convince his brother that he’s okay enough to leave the house and work on that story that Chuck gave him. He promises Sam that if he has anymore ‘episodes’ that he’ll call Pam and schedule an appointment with her.  

He rubs Sarge’s ears on his way out of the house and tells her to keep Sammy safe while he’s gone. His laptop is a lost cause thanks to Castiel’s visit last night but he still needs to turn the story in so he’s planning on heading into the office and maybe checking in on Samandriel if he has time.  

He’s so lost in his thoughts about the boy and about Castiel that he doesn’t notice the other person sitting in the passenger seat of his Impala until he has the door shut and turns the ignition.

“Hello, Dean.”

 


	3. Wild Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He scoffs as they come to a stop light, “Are you seriously hitting on me right now?”
> 
> Castiel arches an eyebrow right back at Dean and asks challengingly with a small grin, “So what if I am?”
> 
> Dean flushes and shakes his head resolutely, looking back at the road, “No. No, no, no, no, no. No. I am not-” He sputters for a moment and pulls into the parking deck of the newspaper, “No.” Dean spares a glance over at Cas and his eyes almost bug out of his head when he sees that the other man is still grinning at him, “Dude, no! I don’t - you’re not even a human!”
> 
> “Neither are you,” Castiel challenges.
> 
> He growls as he pulls the Impala into a mostly empty area of the parking deck and swings her into a spot before turning to glare at Cas, “I. Am. Human.”
> 
> Castiel stares at Dean for a few moments before he says quietly, “Not entirely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO WHAT IF THIS IS A SHAMELESSLY SELF-INDULDGENT EXPLORATION OF DEAN AND ANDY GALLAGHER'S FRIENDSHIP THAT NEVER WAS??? SO WHAT??? [whispers] Sorry, life got a little busy. Enjoy.
> 
>  **Warnings:** vague thoughts of suicide/worthlessness, ~marijuana use as a coping mechanism during worktime hours~, and, uh... just... general 'dean in this verse' things??

CHAPTER 3 

“Jesus christ!” Dean squeaks and throws his body up against the driver side door before he even has time to think about it. 

Castiel smiles like he’s finding all of this far too amusing, the asshole, and shrugs a little, “Not quite, no, but I am flattered.”  

Dean’s still not any less freaked out when he realizes who the voice belongs to but the look of terror on his face only shifts into an indignant one, “What the hell is wrong with you?! Did you break into my car now too?!”  

His eyes go comically large after a moment and he squawks as he looks around the Impala frantically, trying to make sure his baby is all in one piece, “Did you blow anything up in here?! Cause I swear to **_god_** , Cas, I will find a way to kill you and I’ll do it and I’ll _enjoy_ it.” He spares a look up at the other being in the car and flails around a little more when he realizes that Cas’ shoulders are shaking because he’s trying not to laugh.   

Before he can stop himself, Dean reaches over and smacks Castiel’s upper arm, “This isn’t funny, you dick!”  

“I am finding this incredibly amusing,” Castiel smirks over at Dean and is very pleased with himself, seemingly unbothered by his minor freak out or the smack. When he sees that Dean isn’t calming down any, Castiel sighs and puts a hand on the journalist’s shoulder to ground him, “Dean... your ‘baby,’” he pulls back and awkwardly uses air quotes, “Is fine.”  

Dean feels the blood rush to his face when Cas smiles at him after that but he covers it up with a grunt and quickly looks out the front window of the Impala, “Good... cause I’d hate to have’ta kill you before you can help your brother or whatever out.”  

He starts the car up and drives off of his street without taking his eyes off the road, ignoring his grandmother’s voice in the back of his head telling him that he’s being an idiot, driving with this strange man ( _creature_ , he mentally chastises himself) all alone.  

“Your grandmother isn’t wrong,” Castiel says casually as he looks out the windows of the Impala, watching the other cars go by as Dean pulls out onto the main road, “This is a very dangerous situation you’re putting yourself in. If something were to happen to you, it is highly unlikely that someone would be able to figure it out.”  

For some reason it doesn’t even surprise Dean that Cas is in his head. He just grunts and turns the radio up a little bit louder, “I’d get out of there if I were you, Cas. My head ain’t a safe place for anybody to be hangin’ out.”  

He tries not to think about what it must be like in his mind because he gets the feeling that Cas would tell him if he really wanted to know - and he has no desire to know. His own imagination and ideas for what it’s like are enough. He doesn’t need something concrete for his subconscious to build more nightmares off of.  

Castiel frowns a little at Dean’s profile before looking back out the passenger window as he says, “Is it always like this? So... crowded?” 

Yes, Dean wants to say. Yes, they never shut up and it’s _exhausting_ , he wants to scream. He wants to tell someone about the spirits that find him, that latch onto him, that ask for his help. He wants to tell someone how hard it is to wake up everyday with that many people asking for your help at once. He wants to tell someone how sometimes he drinks himself to sleep at night because it’s the only way he’s found that gets them to be quiet for a little bit. Dean wants to reach out and be vulnerable to someone who knows that he’s not crazy but he can’t. Because some days, when he thinks about it too much, he wonders if maybe everybody else is right. Maybe he is crazy. Maybe this _isn’t_ a gift like his grandmother told him it was. Maybe he’s just... a few cards short of a full-deck.   

Instead Dean sighs and turns onto Main Street, heading towards his office, “Why the fuck are you in my car, Cas?” 

“Since when does a man need an excuse to visit another attractive man?” Castiel asks innocently with an arched eyebrow and a small smile.  

“First of all, you are not a man,” Dean snorts and nods at Donna and Victor when he drives past the police station, “Second of all -” His brain seems to finally catch up to the other part of what Cas said and he swings his head around to stare at the other being, “Attractive? You think - you think I’m **_attractive_**?”   

He scoffs as they come to a stop light, “Are you seriously hitting on me right now?” 

Castiel arches an eyebrow right back at Dean and asks challengingly with a small grin, “So what if I am?” 

Dean flushes and shakes his head resolutely, looking back at the road, “No. No, no, no, no, no. **_No_**. I am not-” He sputters for a moment and pulls into the parking deck of the newspaper, “No.” Dean spares a glance over at Cas and his eyes almost bug out of his head when he sees that the other man is still grinning at him, “Dude, no! I don’t - you’re not even a human!”  

“Neither are you,” Castiel challenges. 

He growls as he pulls the Impala into a mostly empty area of the parking deck and swings her into a spot before turning to glare at Cas, “I. **Am**. Human.”  

Castiel stares at Dean for a few moments before he says quietly, “Not entirely.” 

Dean clenches his jaw and storms out of the impala, slamming his baby’s driverside door shut behind him to get away from this conversation. His modus operandi has always been ‘pretend it doesn’t exist and it doesn’t exist.’  

“That’s not how this works, Dean,” the gravelly voice that’s becoming all-too familiar says from a few feet away. “Ignoring it doesn’t make it go away.”  

“LOOK-” Dean snaps and whirls around to glare daggers at Cas but has to stop because a few coworkers are walking by and giving him concerned looks. He pastes a pained smile on his face and laughs awkwardly, giving them a wave, “Sorry, we’re fine, it’s good.”  

Their faces become more concerned but they nod and walk away, the whole time looking over their shoulders at Dean and whoa - **_whoa_**. He knows those looks.   

“You’re not real,” Dean says dumbly as his brain takes a minute to start functioning again, “You... you’re not real.” 

Castiel sighs and looks down at his feet and if Dean didn’t know any better he’d say the other being looks guilty, “Dean...” 

“No-” He cuts him off before he can say anything else and shakes his head, “No. Just - just stop, okay?” Dean wants to go crawl into the back seat of the Impala and hide. Was any of this real? The case? Samandriel? The bodies? Any of it? 

He goes over to the curb outside of the elevator and sits down, putting his head in his hands and his laptop bag on the ground in front of him. He hears footsteps coming closer and he feels the wind shift when Castiel sits down on the curb next to him but doesn’t say anything. And Dean wishes he would because nothing is making sense right now and he’s so fucking lost that it’s almost funny.  

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” Castiel says quietly after a few minutes of silence and reaches out to set a hand on the other man’s shoulder. It connects and he squeezes the flesh reassuringly, something that one of the spirits Dean is used to seeing would not be able to do, “I _am_ real. I am just... not real to them.”   

“Fantastic,” the journalist mumbles to himself as he brings his hands up to rub at his temples, “So now people I work with think I’m crazy.”  

Dean resists the urge to whine and punch something and go down to the liquor store and buy himself something to forget about this and instead turns to face Castiel before asking bluntly, “Why are you here? With me, I mean. I don’t know what the fuck you are but if you’re flagged by every intelligence agency in the world with a file that requires a clearance level so high that Fergus Crowley can’t even access it, you’ve gotta be something that’s either really fucking bad or really fucking important. So tell me, why are you sitting here, in a parking lot in the middle of Chicago with a human-” He growls a little at the dubious look Castiel gives him and emphasizes, “A **_human_** who most people would ignore. Or cross the street to get away from.”   

The other being just looks at Dean like he’s the most dense person in the world and sighs, looking down at his joined hands, “You...” Castiel licks his lips like he’s about to divulge some important information, something that nobody’s supposed to know. “You’re different, Dean. You’re important.”  

“Bullshit,” he counters without even blinking an eye. “That’s bullshit and we both know it, Castiel. Whatever it is that you’re dealing with? I’m not important. I’m nobody, Cas.”  

Castiel’s eyes snap up to meet Dean’s and they flash bright blue for a moment, effectively pinning Dean in place. “No,” he growls, sounding furious and terrifying and like it would only take him a single pinky to rain down the wrath of God on someone right now, “You, Dean Winchester, are important. You’re important to **_me_**.”   

The elevator behind them starts dinging as it counts down the floors and Castiel says quietly, “I will see you again soon, Dean Winchester.” His eyes flash to the door for a second before he looks at Dean again like he wants to do something else. He doesn’t though; he says quietly, “You should really get to work,” before he disappears with a fluttering of fabric. 

Dean’s left sitting on the curb in a confused state of shock when the elevator door opens and Abaddon, the owner of the newspaper walks out. “Winchester!” She commands in her silky voice and pokes Dean with her foot, not ungently, “I do not _pay_ you to sit around doing nothing.”   

He scrambles to his feet quickly and adjusts his glasses before nodding, “Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am, just got a personal call.” Dean swallows at the unimpressed expression on her face and moves quickly towards the elevator, “I’m going to work now.”  

She watches him step into the elevator and Dean can feel her eyes on him until the doors close and it starts going up to his floor. 

“Well she seems like a _joy_ ,” a voice says from somewhere to Dean’s right and he groans as he gently smacks his head against the elevator wall. “Just... shut up.” The ghost (a young girl, maybe 19 or 20) shrugs and disappears, leaving Dean alone for a moment. 

“I really need office hours or something,” Dean grumbles to himself as the elevator doors open and he gets the hell out of there before the girl decides to make another guest appearance.  

He _does_ have a story to write.  

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It takes him the better part of three hours to get some semblance of a first draft typed up and sent out to Chuck and Dean prays with every fiber of his being that his editor approves.

It’s not that Chuck doesn’t like Dean, per-se, it’s just that... well... Dean - he’s good at his job. He’s really fucking good at his job. And part of his job is talking to cops and going to crime scenes and inevitably, he runs into civilians. Witnesses, family members, other press, cops, sometimes victims - and Dean? He’s a good guy. He’s a sweetheart, really, anyone will tell you that. 

But sometimes... _sometimes_ he’s kind of a gigantic dickwad of massive proportions. And he knows this and he does try to stop himself when he’s about to say something that will get him in trouble but his brain isn’t always as fast as his mouth.  

So you get the newspaper sued _once_. It happens to everybody, right?   

(Okay, no, it doesn’t happen to everybody and Dean knows he fucked up there but he still hasn’t figured out a way to say “No no no, you don’t understand, it wasn’t defamatory, it was true! I just - I can’t prove it cause my source is, well... my source is dead” without sounding like a lunatic.)  

Dean sighs and shuts off his computer as he leans forward and rests his head in his hands, groaning quietly. He _can’t_ fuck this job up. It has to stick this time.  

 _You’re a failure_ , a voice Dean has spent many years trying to forget hisses from somewhere behind him, _You might as well give up now, sweetheart. Save yourself the trouble while you still can. Put everyone else out of their misery_.  

He shakes his head quickly and pushes Alistair to the back of his mind, as far away from him as he can. His pulse is already racing and he’s sweating and his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest and shit shit shit, he can’t do this right now.  

Andy, bless his soul, chooses this moment to come over to Dean’s cubicle and lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Hey...” He smiles at Dean warmly and his eyes flick around the office for a moment before he asks in a quiet voice, “Want to go outside?”  

Dean’s not sure if he’s ever nodded so fast in his life. He grabs his jacket and his phone and quickly follows Andy up to the roof of the building. 

They don’t talk - Andy knows him well enough by now to recognize Dean’s signs, to know when to stop talking, when to talk to him about anything and everything, and when to call Sam or Mary.  

He’s also one of a few people who _knows_ about Dean.  

“So,” Andy finally says through clenched teeth as he lights the joint with Dean’s lighter. He takes a hit and holds it for a solid minute before handing it off to Dean, “Wanna talk about it?”  

“You and Sam should start a knitting club,” Dean grunts before taking a hit of his own and closing his eyes as he feels the smoke filling up his lungs. He lets it out in a ring above his head and hums quietly as he hands the joint back, trying to decide if he really wants to tell Andy about it. About everything that’s bothering him.  

“Great idea,” Andy snarks back, “Maybe ask one of the old lady ghosts following you around if they know any good patterns for beginners. I’ll make you a really ugly scarf as a thank you.” Dean just stares at his friend, unimpressed by the empty threat, and takes the joint when it’s offered to him again.  

Andy continues once he lets out the smoke, “I’m serious. It’ll be, like... fuckin’ neon pink and neon green. Like that sorority Lisa’s friend belonged to. What were they called? Kappa Phi Soulless Bitches?”  

Dean giggles despite himself and smiles as he blows out the smoke, “I think that was just that Ruby girl.” Andy sighs dreamily and steals the joint from Dean, grinning the whole time, “Ahhh, Ruby. God, she was hot. I totally hit that.” The taller man all-but cackles, “In your _dreams_ , dude!”  

“What?!” Andy squawks indignantly and flails his arms around a little, almost dropping the joint, “Chicks dig bad boys! Stoner, vagrant, anarchist journalism major who plays the guitar is like, every ladies dream guy, Dean! Don’t mock me!”  

They continue like that, bitching back and forth at each other, until the joint burns all the way down and Andy finishes off the roach for them before squishing it with his boot.  

Dean’s laying on the air conditioner units and his eyes are closed. He loves this feeling - his mind is quiet and he feels so pleasantly numb. The voices shut up and spirits leave him alone and he can just _forget_ about the mysterious man who has somehow taken up a spot in his life over the past 24 hours. He knows that things are fucked up, that he’s fucked up, but when he’s stoned it all just falls away. It finally feels like he can breathe again, for real this time.   

And because this is Dean Winchester’s life and not some normal person’s life who’s allowed to have some peace and quiet alone on the roof with one of his best friends, Andy chooses that exact moment to ask again.  

“Dude, are you like...” Andy hesitates for a moment as a bird flies by above them and he giggles a little, “Are you okay? Cause man, Sam called me, right? And he was ranting about you and he was like ‘blah blah blah, dead, blah blah blah, dad, blah blah blah, worried...” 

“Does Sammy always sound like of the parents in Charlie Brown to you too?” Dean asks quietly, with a sort of sarcastic sincerity that he’s perfected over the years (mostly because he’s trying not to laugh). 

“Yes,” Andy confirms solemnly and rolls his head to the side to grin lazily at his friend, “Sometimes he even looks like them too.”  

Dean snorts and goes back to staring at the sky for a few minutes before sighing, “I don’t really know if I’m okay, dude. The last 24 hours have been...” He lets out a huff of a laugh and waves his hand around dismissively, like that somehow explains everything. 

And apparently it does, to some extent at least, because Andy nods knowingly and hums a little as he closes his eyes again, “I feel you.” 

They go quiet again for a few minutes as they watch the sky above them and the clouds shift. Eventually Dean starts talking -- he tells Andy everything that happened yesterday and last night and, hesitantly, he even tells him what happened this morning. When he tells his friend about Cas appearing in his car, Andy bursts into a hysterical fit of giggles and Dean squawks indignantly even though he’s laughing too. He grabs a pebble off the ground and tosses it at Andy, missing him because he’s laughing so hard there are tears in his eyes, “Dude, shut up! It was _scary_!”   

Andy cackles and rolls off of the ledge he’d been laying on, landing on the roof face first which seems to only spur him on more with the laughter as he clutches his stomach, gasping out, “Do it again!”  

Dean giggles and manages to steel himself for a moment before doing his impression of Cas’ deep gravelly voice again, “Hello, Dean.”  

They both lose it all over again and by the time they manage to catch their breath, they’re laying shoulder to shoulder on the roof and Dean can’t remember the last time he felt this _light_. It might’ve been father’s day, with Ben and Lisa and Sammy and Jess and their whole group of friends, but he can’t remember for sure.   

They might be laying on some bird shit or old, half-smoked cigarettes, but when Dean rests his head on his best friend’s shoulder and closes his eyes, he doesn’t really care.  

He feels a hand come up and run through his hair gently and he sighs contently, feeling the rare kind of contentment he’s always gotten from being around Andy. He’s never judged him, not once, and he never made Dean feel like he was a freak. He was just a steady, constant, supportive presence in Dean’s life - just as he always had been since they met on Dean’s first day of high school. 

“Whatever happens, man,” Andy says quietly as he lets his nails scratch gently over the other man’s scalp, “We’ll figure it out. If there’s anyone who can deal with this shit, it’s you, D.” 

Dean would **_really_** like to believe him. He would like to believe that he’s not getting himself in over his head here with this Cas business; he would like to believe that he’ll figure out what to do about his dad’s body being found and the inevitable investigation that will come with it. He would like to believe that he’ll figure out how the hell he knows Cas and that it won’t be something as embarrassing or awful as he’s thinking it is. He would like to believe that Ben will still want to see him. He would like to believe that one day Sam won’t think he’s crazy. He would like to believe that he’s not going to lose his job, but he doesn’t know anymore.   

Dean’s never been much of glass half empty/half full kind of guy. He’s always been more of a ‘okay what the hell is in that glass and is it safe for me to drink it’ kind of guy.

“...Even if you think you might have slept with this Castiel douchebag at some point,” Andy adds after a few beats of silence. Dean lets out a surprised laugh and shoves the shorter man away from him as they both dissolve into giggles.

Maybe it will be alright. 


	4. I've been loving you for quite some time, time, time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean couldn’t see that well because of the smoke but he knows that he saw one figure standing in the doorway, engulfed by flames, and another figure. At the time his brain had just assumed they were more spirits and he remembered snipping at them for their timing. One of the figures had tilted its head to the side, like it was confused, and the other one seemed to exude some sort of annoyance. 
> 
> The next few minutes were a blur but tonight in his dream, Dean had remembered eyes. They were bright, shining, familiar eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, I was in the midst of a slight writers block, then family, then GISHWHES! :) Enjoy this chapter and I hope it answers some questions.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Fire, brief mentions of abuse and sex trafficking.

CHAPTER 4 

That night Dean wakes up in a cold sweat sitting upright in his bed with his heart pounding in his chest. He looks around his bedroom and once he’s determined that he’s safe, no one’s there and waiting to hurt him, he flops down onto the bed and rubs a hand over his face.

Sarge is sound asleep next to him and she lets out a loud snore, making him snort involuntarily. 

The house is quiet. He’s alone, he’s safe, and he was just having a dream. That’s it. It wasn’t real, there’s nothing to be scared of, there’s no reason to freak out - it was all a dream.  

He sighs and rubs his eyes, knowing he’s not going back to sleep tonight, and swings his feet over the side of the bed. Missouri’s working the late shift tonight. He could go and visit Samandriel, see if he’s doing okay. See if he’s even still there, really, since Cas just about flipped his shit when he heard that the younger boy was in a hospital somewhere.  

Dean pushes himself upright reluctantly and ignores the two spirits waiting for him by the bathroom door, grumbling again under his breath about setting up office hours or something. He may be one of the few people on earth who can talk to them but damn dude, even psychics or whatever the hell he is have to sleep sometimes. And it’s not always easy to do when there’s someone staring at you the entire time (ghosts, he’s learned through the years, have no concept of social appropriateness; if he had a nickel for every time one of them had tried to talk to him when he was naked, having sex or going to the bathroom, he’d be a millionaire).  

He yawns and flushes the toilet, scratching his belly absently as he exits the bathroom after he’s washed his hands. The clock by his night stand says 2:30 in big, mocking red numbers and Dean whines at the prospect of not sleeping.  

The top drawer in his nightstand calls to him longingly, the sleeping pills Pam gave him oh so tempting, but he shakes his head and snaps himself out of it.  

Samandriel. He’s more important right now. 

 Dean pulls a pair of jeans off of the floor and sniffs them, deciding that their odor isn’t offensive, before pulling them on with a small shrug. Kid’s staying in a mental ward, Dean doubts he cares that these jeans haven’t been washed in a week. 

He grabs a t-shirt from the pile of laundry by the foot of his bed and it occurs to him that it might be Ben’s because it’s just-this side of too small, but he’s too tired to change. Again, everyone at St. Mary’s knows Dean and has seen him in every state of being that he has to offer. A too-small comic book t-shirt is easily one of the least offensive things they’ve seen him in. 

“I’ll be back in a couple’a hours, bub,” Dean whispers quietly as he scratches Sarge’s ears gently, not wanting to wake her, “Keep the home-front safe.”  

Sarge grunts noncommittally and shoves Dean’s hand away from her head with an annoyed huff before her eyes close again. It makes him smile, unable to help himself. 

He grabs his keys and his jacket and at the last moment, grabs his backpack too. 

“ _You never know when you’re going to run into a story_ ,” Sam always reminds him whenever Dean complains about his brother bringing his laptop and camera everywhere. At least Dean’s actually going to talk to someone and doesn’t carry the fucking things into a movie theatre.  

The Impala feels obnoxiously loud on his quiet street when he starts her up and he winces as he pulls out of the driveway, hoping Mrs. Lawrence from next door doesn’t give him shit in the morning.  

He does turn up the music in an attempt to drone out his own worrying and smiles when he realizes that it’s one of Ben’s mixes that he made for Dean last year on Father’s Day.  

It’s some stupid pop song that Dean doesn’t know and doesn’t particularly care for one way or the other, but he remembers taking Ben and his first girlfriend to the concert last year and it makes him smile. He taps his hands against the wheel to the beat of the song while he drives, singing it under his breath, “ _I heard our song on the radio, and I see your face everywhere I go, I thought I’d call just to let you know, I’ve been thinking of you, thinking of you, ooh-ooh_.”   

Okay so that’s a lie. Dean might have enjoyed the concert more than the kids had and he _might_ have downloaded Charlie’s copy of Kesha’s last CD. **_Maybe_**. You can’t prove anything.  

Already he feels a little bit better when he pulls onto the highway and finds it’s mostly empty, save for a few trucks around him and what looks to be some dads driving their family’s minivans. He remembers doing that before everything went to shit and he sighs, turning up the music again. 

The hospital isn’t terribly far but it’s certainly not close either. It’s about a forty-five minute drive and Dean lets his mind wander to Castiel while he drives.  

He knows the man - thing? being? - from somewhere. That much, he’s sure of. They’ve met before or, at the very least, Dean’s seen him before. The problem is that Dean just has no fucking idea of when that could’ve been. 

His dream tonight had given him some clues. It was his dream about the fire, the same one he’d been having since he was fourteen and his dad had gone ‘missing.’ And Dean pretty much always, _always_ woke up before he got saved.   

But this time - this time he remembers something. 

There was a fire. He’d been asleep for the first time in what felt like months, but had probably only been weeks, and he’d woken up because he felt hot. The old house he and John had been living in was almost entirely made of wood and by the time Dean had woken up, laying in the bathroom tub, the only place in the house that wasn’t entirely wood, the entire upstairs had been consumed by flames.  

Dean doesn’t remember a whole lot about that night - he remembers a sense of calm overtaking him when he’d woken up. He remembers thinking that this was it, this was how he was going to die. After everything he’d been through, everything he’d seen, he was going to be done in by a fire.  

But then there had been someone. A figure.

Dean couldn’t see that well because of the smoke but he knows that he saw one figure standing in the doorway, engulfed by flames, and another figure. At the time his brain had just assumed they were more spirits and he remembered snipping at them for their timing. One of the figures had tilted its head to the side, like it was confused, and the other one seemed to exude some sort of annoyance.  

The next few minutes were a blur but tonight in his dream, Dean had remembered eyes. They were bright, shining, _familiar_ eyes.   

He sighs, shaking his head and dismissing that theory. There was literally _no way_ Cas had been the one to save him from the fire. The firemen couldn’t even get into the house. Dean has no memory of leaving the house but he’s heard the stories, seen the footage and read the reports.   

Apparently he walked out of the front door right when they’d chalked it up to a lost cause and decided to focus on not letting the fire spreading. Except for a weird, handprint looking burn on his arm, he’d been fine. Completely unharmed. 

The paramedics were baffled and the cops figured that Dean must’ve been the one to set the fire. Which - yeah, okay, now that he was older and he’d worked with law enforcement for a few years, Dean got how they could’ve thought that. Truly, he did. But it _still_ kinda pissed him off that they arrested him for arson without any evidence and held him overnight. If he’d been smarter, he would’ve had a hell of a civil lawsuit on his hands.   

But, he amends mentally with a small shrug, that was probably the best thing that could’ve happened for him. Because when they ran his prints through the system they saw that he was a missing kid. 

If it weren’t for those cops overstepping their bounds, Dean may never have been reunited with his mom or Sammy. He would never have met Lisa or had Ben. 

So there’s absolutely no fucking way that Cas had anything to do with getting him out of that house. If Cas was anything like Dean thought he was, there was no way - nothing as powerful as Cas would’ve saved _him_ , of all people.  

He sighs as he pulls in to the hospital’s parking lot and parks the Impala in the employee’s section. Dean pulls his jacket tighter around him when he steps out of the car and puts the Cas Issue, as he’s taken to calling it, to the back of his mind. He’s going to have enough to think about while he’s here, he doesn’t need to be thinking about that too.  

Dean stares up at the big, imposing building and sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets once his backpack is on. He hates hospitals. 

There are always _so many_ spirits hanging around and every single one of them wants Dean’s help with something. He’s happy to help where he can but there’s no way in hell that he could feasibly help hundreds of people with their shit. It is both exhausting and heartbreaking and Dean avoids going to hospitals as much as his job allows him to.   

Now though, he’s here for a reason. He sighs and puts on earbud in before pressing play on his iPod as he starts to walk towards the building.  

Something loud plays in his ear and he smiles at the nurse at the check-in desk. Donna, he remembers. “Mr. Winchester,” she’s smiling but it’s a tired, slightly annoyed smile, “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”  

Dean squares his jaw and lets a breath out through his nose before he speaks, trying not to sound affronted at the implication in her question, “I’m fine. I just dropped by to see Missouri. She’s working tonight, right?” Donna eyes him suspiciously, clearly not buying what he’s selling, but eventually she relents and pages the other woman.  

When Missouri comes through the big double doors a few minutes later she’s glaring at Dean like he just made a baby cry, “Boy, what did I tell you when you called this afternoon?”  

“That he’s a scared, traumatized kid who doesn’t need the likes of me coming in here and bugging him about stuff he can’t talk about,” Dean almost quotes and offers Missouri a grin, “ _But_ you also said that about the last kid I sent here and remember what happened?” He’d snuck in to the kid’s room in the middle of the night and managed to solve the entire attempted sex trafficking case in under fifteen minutes.   

Missouri gives him an unimpressed look before walking over to Dean and setting a hand on his cheek, “Honey...” Her voice is softer now and laced with concern, “You need sleep. It’s three in the morning on a school night, sugar, what are you doing awake?”  

Dean looks away sheepishly before mumbling reluctantly, “Couldn’t sleep.” She looks him up and down, taking in his slightly ridiculous and sincerely rumpled appearance, before sighing after a few beats of silence and asking gently, “Was it that fire dream again, baby?”  

He nods jerkily, not needing to say anything else. Missouri had sat with him on more than one occasion after that dream when he was here.  

Something about his face must assure her that Dean really is okay (or as okay as he’s going to get) because she sighs and drops her hand, “Well... not that I condone this behavior, showing up at my hospital in the middle of the night and askin’ favors with nothing in return, but -” Missouri makes Dean meet her eyes as she says quietly, “I’m not going to stop you from talking to the boy.”  

Dean beams at her and moves forward, pulling her into a tight hug, “You are the best. I promise I’ll bring you a pie or somethin’ this weekend, okay?” Missouri huffs a laugh before shoving him away gently after a few minutes, “No need to bribe me, sugar, I already said you could do it. He’s just down the hall, door’s open. If he’s asleep, I expect that you won’t wake him up, Dean.”  

He gives her a salute and a sincere smile before moving past her and going through the double doors. He puts in the other earbud to drown out the spirits that have already noticed him and he tries not to shoulder his way through the crowd of invisible people while he walks.  

When he finds Samandriel’s door, he’s surprised to see that the boy is not only awake, but he’s already talking to someone. A familiar face looks up calmly, like he knew Dean was there all along, and offers him a small smile.

“Hello, Dean.” 

 


	5. he wears war like it’s his second skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tea would help more, sweetheart,” an old but familiar voice reminds him from somewhere towards his closet. 
> 
> “You’ve been dead for three years Mrs. Zdarsky,” he mumbles and rubs a hand over his face as he sits up. “Don’t you think it’s time to go into the light or whatever?” 
> 
> “And leave you to fend for yourself, dear? I find that to be a terrible idea.” 
> 
> Dean snorts and shakes his head almost fondly with a small smile on his face. She had always been a pain in his ass but a sweet pain in his ass who would make Ben cookies when he was sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //coughs awkwardly and looks around the room// what??? what do you mean it's been like an eternity since I updated this??? that??? that sounds so unlike me??? why would you say that?????
> 
> I wish I had a better explanation or excuse except straight old fucking writers block. I am very bad at planning things out so the plot for this is a vague idea in my head that was clumsily translated onto paper before I started writing this. I apologize on the epic delay but please, enjoy dean.
> 
> I would like to say that I'll update this again soon but that depends entirely on whether or not my brain decides to be helpful and think of something to write. if you have any ideas though, please feel free to suggest them!
> 
> I am so, so sorry.

When Dean wakes up the next morning, he’s laying face first in his bed with Sarge snoring loudly next to him. He wants to whine and throw a pillow at her, and he starts to do that, but something reminds him that this is wrong. 

Because the last thing he remembers is walking into Samandriel’s hospital room and seeing Cas.

And now he’s here. He’s home, in his bed, with his dog.

He frowns and pushes himself up on his elbows just enough to look at his body. He doesn’t think that Cas or anyone else would do anything to him but seriously, _what the fuck??_

“Well...” Dean mumbles and rolls over onto his back after a beat, “At least I’m dressed.”  

Sarge makes a displeased noise next to him and opens one eye to glare at her owner. Dean rolls his eyes a little and reaches out to scratch behind her ears, “I know kiddo. It is definitely too early to wake up.”  

His voice sounds especially rough and he can’t tell if it’s from overuse or disuse, but he decides that he might have to get up and get some coffee before he tries to do anything else.

 “ _Tea would help more, sweetheart_ ,” an old but familiar voice reminds him from somewhere towards his closet. 

“You’ve been dead for three years Mrs. Zdarsky,” he mumbles and rubs a hand over his face as he sits up. “Don’t you think it’s time to go into the light or whatever?” 

 “ _And leave you to fend for yourself, dear? I find that to be a terrible idea._ ” 

Dean snorts and shakes his head almost fondly with a small smile on his face. She had always been a pain in his ass but a _sweet_ pain in his ass who would make Ben cookies when he was sick. 

He reluctantly drags himself out of bed and stretches, wincing when he hears his back crack in about six places. He turns his head towards the bed again and catches Sarge giving him another unimpressed, if slightly impatient, look, and it makes Dean roll his eyes. 

“You know something bub? You’re needier than a newborn sometimes.” 

 Her tail only wags in response and again, Dean snorts before heading out towards the kitchen. Apparently the to-do list for this morning is now: feed Sarge, coffee, shower, call the hospital and figure out what happened, attempt to contact Cas and yell at him.

 Sam’s sitting at his kitchen table with his laptop open and a cup of coffee that’s probably as big as Ben’s head is in front of him.

 Dean grunts his brother a greeting and yawns as he gets a cup for himself, “Mornin’, Sammy.” 

In all honesty, he’d totally forgotten that his little brother was still here. Hopefully, whoever (whatever?) brought him back last night didn’t make too much noise or this conversation was going to get very weird, very fast. 

 He goes over to Sarge’s bowl and pours some of her food in with a yawn, his brain still stuck on a loop of trying to figure out what the hell happened last night.

 When he turns around, Sam is staring at him expectantly and oh shit.

 “Sorry,” Dean hums a little and sets his coffee on the counter for a moment, “Zoned out. What were you saying Sammy?” 

 The younger man eyes him a little warily before sighing, “I _said_ that you got home late last night.” 

 Dean snorts and grabs a bagel out of the freezer, popping it into the toaster as he answers, “Well, I left the house at like two in the morning so did I get home late or did I get home _really early_?” 

 Sarge looks up at him from where she’s eating her food and Dean just sticks his tongue out at her. She’s never been the right audience for his sense of humor anyway. 

 “Either way, you got home at an inane hour for a work night,” Sam implores, and Dean doesn’t need to look up to know what kind of look his brother is giving him. 

 “I was working on a story, _mom_ ,” Dean retorts back, keeping his tone lighter than his mood actually is. He hates it when Sam tries to do this, tries to ‘watch out for him’ like he’s still the messed up teenager he was when they met. 

And the funny thing about that is Dean wasn’t all that messed up to begin with.

“I’ll make sure to ask permission the next time I go out,” he grunts and shoves the freezer shelf back into place. “Don’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep. 

Sam starts to say something but Dean ignores him and grabs his coffee as he walks back towards his room. He’s not hungry yet so now seems like a good time to take his shower.

He drinks the rest of his coffee too quickly when he gets into the bathroom and sets it aside, letting a hand rest on the counter for a moment. 

He’ll never admit it out loud, not even to Pam or himself, but he _hates_ the way Sam and his mom act around him whenever this stuff comes up. They act like he’s so fragile and like if they sneeze he’ll fucking break or something.  

And worse than that? Sometimes they look at him like they think _he’s_ going to hurt _them_.  

Dean sighs and looks up at his reflection, ignoring the shadows on the wall behind him that are moving all by themselves.  

“I, Dean Winchester, am _not_ crazy,” he mumbles to his reflection.   

 _Talking to yourself says otherwise_ , one of the shadows taunts. 

He just grits his teeth a little bit, “Yeah, well, who’s the corporeal being in this room? Oh yeah, that’s right, _me_.”   

The other shadow giggles and Dean’s chest _aches_ when he realizes that the noise belongs to a little girl.   

If he lets himself dwell on that thought, go down that road, he’ll be stuck in his room for the rest of the day. So he shakes his head in a literal attempt to shake himself out of it and pulls his shirt off roughly.  

He stops for a moment to examine his chest for any scars, scrapes or bruises, but he doesn’t see anything new. He avoids his scars, as always, and turns to get a peek at his back. 

“Still looking like some sort of fucked up Pollock painting, Winchester,” Dean mumbles to himself before pulling off his pants and boxers in one go. 

He doesn’t bother to check his legs for anything because he would _feel_ that.   

Dean turns on the shower and gets in without waiting for it to warm up because he doesn’t want to think about anything right now except how cold the water is. 

He sighs and lets the rivulets roll down his body as he bows his head.  

It’s never as quiet in the showers as it should be, and sometimes it makes Dean want to ram his head through a wall.  

The shadows are still talking about him, but they’re not talking _to_ him, so he’ll take that compromise from the universe.   

His body still has this general ache though, and it’s pretty much par for the course at this point, but usually Dean goes numb to it after a few minutes of being awake. He can _feel_ his muscles groaning when he moves and he rolls his shoulders carefully as the water beats down on them.

 Mercifully, for the moment, the world is silent.

* * *

Apparently, Jess is bringing Mary and the kids down to visit. **_Awesome_**. 

Dean groans mentally because his house is _soooo_ not ready for guests and he is _soooo_ not in the mood to play referee between everybody. Sam and Jess will probably end up staying at a hotel since they have the kids but _God_ , that still means mom’s going to be crashing in the guest room.  

He tells Sam he’s going grocery shopping and leaves without waiting for a response. His brother will notice soon enough that Sarge came with Dean but eh, his phone is at the house and he doesn’t really care if Sam thinks something’s up with him. 

He’s too tired and too preoccupied to worry about what Sam thinks is “wrong with Dean” today. 

Sarge walks along side him as they make their way to the park down the street from Dean’s neighborhood. She stops every few feet to smell and leave her own scent, but she always manages to keep pace with Dean. 

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and sighs quietly to himself.

 Honest to God, Dean loves his family more than anything. His mom and Sammy, they literally saved his life on more than one occasion. Jess is one of his favorite humans on this planet. Mia and Kari are _almost_ cuter than Ben was when he was that little, and Dean loves spoiling his nieces.

 But between this story and the way Sam’s been looking at him since he told Dean about John, it all just makes him want to run away.

 Sarge headbutts his leg gently and makes a worried noise, giving him sad eyes.

 Dean huffs a little and reaches out to scratch her ears with a reluctant smile, “I’m ok, bub, I promise. I just... well, you know.” 

 She doesn’t know, because she wasn’t around to see the worst of it. But somehow Sarge always knows what Dean means so he feels ok to leave it there. 

 They make it to the park not long after that and Dean lets out a relieved breath when it’s empty except for one nanny and two kids on the swings. He could never take Ben to the park when he was younger; there were always too many spirits hanging around.

 The spirits were there now but Dean had flopped down onto the grass that was closer to the edge of the park than the playground. He let his eyes close with a tired sigh, smiling to himself when he felt Sarge curl up next to him.

 It really _was_ nice outside.

 The sun wasn’t too bright, the air wasn’t too cold, and the wind was blowing just enough that sitting there without any shade didn’t feel like sitting in an oven.

 When the grass shifts next to him, Dean sighs and throws an arm up to cover his eyes, “If you’re not a human, shouldn’t your dramatic entrances be a little less human and a little more ‘let’s scare the shit out of Dean’ like it was in my car?” 

Castiel’s deep and now familiar voice chuckles next to him, “My apologies. I didn’t want to startle you.” 

 Dean moves his arm and arches an eyebrow at the other man, “What’s so special about today that you don’t want to give me a heart attack?” 

 To his surprise, Castiel just snorts and lays down next to him on the grass, “Consider me in a generous mood today, Dean, and just leave it at that.” 

 He rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything and just puts his arm back into place.

 He pretends that he’s not hyperaware of the being radiating heat next to him and tries to relax. It fails miserably.

 “I now you have questions,” Cas rumbles eventually. “You are allowed to ask them.” 

 Immediately, Dean opens his eyes and rolls his head to the side so he can look at Cas, “What happened last night?” 

 Castiel smiles a little bit and rolls his head towards Dean, stopping with their noses absurdly close to touching, “We talked.”

 “Oh yeah?” He challenges, scowling a little, “That’s it? We _talked_?” 

 The other man nods the affirmative and Dean growls, “Then why don’t I remember anything after getting to Samandriel’s room last night??” 

 Approximately eighteen different emotions flash across Castiel’s face at that comment. 

 He makes his own little growling noise as his eyes start to glow, “That _bitch_.” 

 Dean’s eyebrows make a valiant effort to actually fly off of his forehead when he hears Cas cursing but he manages to keep his voice calm(ish), “They’re called _women_ , Cas.” 

 The other man just glowers at him and brings a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a startlingly human gesture for something that is, apparently, not human.

 "It’s...” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “I can’t explain it to you, Dean. At least... not right now.” Cas looks at Dean again, eventually, and sighs, “I _can_ give you the memories back, if you wish. But, I... I can’t...” 

 He looks so genuinely apologetic that it catches Dean off guard.

 Instead of arguing and demanding answers, he just nods dumbly, “Yeah, okay.” 

 “I can’t guarantee what happened to you last night won’t happen again,” Cas warns him, and turns on his side so he’s propped up on his hip and looking down at Dean. 

It’s almost absurdly hard for Dean to breathe all of the sudden. 

So he just nods again and blushes when he hears how rough his voice sounds, “Okay.” 

 Castiel smiles a little mirthlessly before setting two fingers on his forehead, restoring all of the memories from the previous night.

 “You might have a _slight_ headache.” 


End file.
